


the space between you and me

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Touch Aversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel learns that not everybody enjoys hugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the space between you and me

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for some uncomfy stuff about personal space/boundaries/consent. also, asriel doesn't have a very healthy idea of how relationships work (jfc kid not everything's about you)

The first few months you spend with Chara are probably what your mother would refer to as a "learning experience."

As far as you can tell, learning experiences are when you accidentally mess up but don't really get in trouble because the guilt you feel is punishment enough.

Usually you enjoy learning experiences, because heck, they mean that you don't get in trouble. All you have to do is sniffle for a bit and say you're sorry and everyone forgives you.

But with Chara, things are different, mostly because you actually, genuinely feel guilty.

 

* * *

 

Chara's the most interesting thing that's ever happened to you. They're funny and strange, with long, curious hands and odd little teeth and brilliant ideas. Talking to them is the most fun you've ever had, partially because of just how _new_ they are and partially because of all the things they have to say about the surface, things you never would have dreamed of in a thousand years.

Even when they're stuck recuperating in bed, it's almost impossible for you to resist the urge to throw yourself at them in excitement. Still, you make yourself hold back. Your mother had specifically asked you to, because Chara had been badly injured by their fall and needed time to heal. Hugging them might hurt them, and so you force yourself to be content with simply sitting at their bedside and telling them about all the things the two of you can do together when they're well.

Even if you can't hug them, being close to them is wonderful. Their presence fills a gap inside your chest that you hadn't even known was there. When you're by their side, you can feel your loneliness slowly draining out of you, leaving only gratitude in its place.

You somehow manage to wait until the day they're finally allowed to leave their room to let that gratitude burst free, when, despite how patient you had been before, you practically tackle them the moment they step into the hallway.

You're not expecting them to push you away.

You're too surprised to think to mask the hurt on your face. Chara's own face instantly goes blank. "I'm sorry," they say. "You surprised me."

Your mother stands behind them, giving you a _look._ Before she can tell you to apologize, you say, "No, it's okay, _I'm_ sorry. I was just so happy to see you again."

"You saw me yesterday," Chara points out.

"Not out of bed, though," you reply, and they snort. 

"I'm pretty sure I don't look all that different," they say, but they _do._  Not in a way you can explain, but in a way that makes you want to sing. Then again, maybe it's _you_  who's different. Maybe it's _you_ who's being weird.

Either way, you already want to hug them again. You don't want to catch them off-guard, though, and so you ask, "Can I hug you?"

Their shoulders stiffen slightly, but after a moment's hesitation, they nod.

You wrap your arms around Chara, squeezing them as tightly as you dare, until finally they pull away, grinning and declaring that they're ready to go back to bed.

You laugh of course, because Chara's being silly.

That day, all of you have lunch together for the first time since they fell. You're so happy to be sitting beside Chara that it takes all of your willpower to keep yourself from tackling them again. All you can think about is everything the two of you can do together now; playing and cuddling and having _fun._ You want to start as soon as possible, in fact, but when the meal is over, your mother calls you into her study.

She says your name so gravely that you slink into the room like a condemned criminal, ready for a lecture, despite having no idea what you could have possibly done wrong. Yet when you see her, her eyes are sad, not accusing, and she pulls you onto her lap without a hint of anger.

In a very gentle voice, she tells you that sometimes people can get used to bad things.

"You should always get Chara's permission before touching them," she says in that kind-yet-firm way that means you'd better remember what she's telling you or else. "That way, they will learn that they can trust you. Do you understand?"

"I understand," you reply. 

But the truth is, you don't, not really, and you leave her study feeling more than a little bit confused.

You understand more than anyone suspects. For one, you understand that something must have happened to Chara, something they don't want to talk about. You used to listen at the doorway when your parents were discussing them, back when they were still recovering, and you know that some of their injuries were too old to have been from the fall. And if your mother is telling you to get permission before touching them, then you're pretty sure that you can guess what kind of bad things they got used to.

What you _don't_ understand is why they wouldn't already trust you. You'd saved them, after all. You're their friend now and will never, ever hurt them. They should _know_ that. Heck, you'd basically told them as much back when they were stuck in bed; there shouldn't be any room for fear or doubt when they think of you.

The next time you hug Chara, the two of you are in the garden, looking for weird bugs. As you kneel beside them in the dirt, combing through the soil with your paws, you catch sight of their red hair from the corner of your eye. It's so bright that you think you want to touch it; then you think, no, not just their hair, _them._ You want to hug _them._ You want to feel your arms envelop them, maybe even feel their arms enveloping you in return. You _want_ to. And you should be allowed to, right? If you're their friend?

But you promised. And so you make sure to ask first, saying, "Hey, Chara? Is it all right if I hug you?"

Chara falls silent, even though they had been laughing only moments ago. Finally, they answer with a curt nod, not so much as looking at you when they do.

They're supposed to want to hug you back, you think with a frown. Not offer a disinterested nod as though your touch is merely something they'll endure. 

Your mom and dad hug and nuzzle one another all the time, but you yourself have never had anyone your own age to share such casual contact with. It had been so _exciting_ to think that you might finally have someone who could be special to you, special the way your parents were to each other. But Chara didn't even seem to care.

A tiny part of you is beginning to wonder if maybe that means their nod is really a _no._

You don't even realize that you're getting irritated until the thought occurs to you that you could touch them with a hand that isn't quite so gentle. You shove the thought aside, smothering it underneath a litany of _be nice, be nice, be nice._

Still, when you lean into them, you squeeze their shoulders maybe just a little bit too tightly.

Chara pulls away a moment later, instantly returning to their work.

"Was that okay?" you ask. 

They finally look up at you then, flashing you a smile that gives no indication whatsoever that they've picked up on your frustration.

"It was fine," they say. "Now help me dig."

Well. If Chara said it was fine, then you'd done nothing wrong. And they'd given their permission, and smiled at you afterwards, so that meant they weren't actually afraid of you, not the way your mother had suggested. You could keep doing it, if you wanted to.

And you _did_ want to—you _liked_  hugging Chara. Being around them made you feel restless, sometimes, like your magic was crackling somewhere deep inside of you. If you just knew how, you'd set it free in a shower of stars, but you're still too young to know what to do with all of this energy humming underneath your skin. For now, all you can think to do is cling to them, but Chara always pulls away, and if Chara is the one who wants you to let go, then you guess you have no choice.

It's not always just about the hugs, though. It's about _everything_.

Like the way run. They run everywhere, and so they stumble constantly, tripping and falling over rocks and roots. Luckily, you're always there to catch and steady them, but every time you do, they tear themselves away a moment later, rubbing at the place you touched as though burned, offering a funny, wordless smile in exchange when you ask if they're all right. At first you'd thought that maybe you were accidentally scratching them, but the sweater they always wear is pretty thick and you'd have noticed if your claws were snagging in the wool. Then you'd thought that maybe you were accidentally gripping them too tightly, but even when you try your very, very best to be gentle, they always pull away. All you want to do is help, but they never let you keep your arm around their shoulder. They never let you take their hand. 

So you're not scaring them, and you're not hurting them. Chara just doesn't want you touching them.

You want to be a good friend. You want to keep your promise to your mom. But Chara's supposed to be your special person—they're supposed to be _yours._ You had been the one to find them and you should be allowed to hold them tight and never, ever have to let them go.

It wouldn't matter so much if they'd just make up their mind to hate you. Then you could at least be their enemy. But they refuse to sleep alone, even though your mom and dad have offered them their own bedroom, and they're always eager for the two of you to run off and play together, always coming up with some new game to entice you with. You're pretty sure they like you, even if it's only just a little bit, even if it's not as much as you like them. Even if they refuse to seize the little moments you could have together, all the instances of casual contact that you've seen your parents share and want so badly for yourself.

You continue to ask permission before you touch them, even for the tiniest things, like picking dried leaves out of their hair or sitting beside them on the couch. You ask, and they say yes _,_ yet they continue to go rigid when you reach out to them, practically recoiling from your touch. It's like Chara disappears whenever you make contact, quietly retreating from the moment.

Even though you're close to them, it never feels like quite enough.

One night, they wake up gasping and the sound of their shuddering sobs startles you awake as well. You end up joining them on their side of the bedroom, reading to them out loud as they wrap themselves in blankets, trying to distract them from their nightmares. Then, as you pause to turn the page, they say, "You're my best friend, Asriel."

Your heart skips a beat, but somehow, you manage to reply, "You're my best friend too, Chara."

It's dark, and it's late, and Chara's tear-streaked face seems curiously vulnerable in that moment. You want to comfort them. You want to offer them some reassurance, reassurance that you're here and always _will_ be here. You want to make those tears go away forever.

You hesitantly reach out to them, thinking you might take their hand, but Chara quickly pulls away, instead leaning over to turn the page for you.

It stings. But before you can say anything—before you can ask what you did wrong—Chara shoots you a tight smile, tapping on the page open before you, and you decide to let it go.

Such a small rejection shouldn't matter, not in the wake of Chara calling you their best friend. You're not quite sure why it feels as though it does. All you know is that you'd dreamt of having a best friend for years, and now that you finally had one, they didn't seem to actually want you anywhere near them.

You feel cold.

 

 

And then. 

 

 

 

Late one evening, when you've already said goodnight to your mom and dad and are returning to your bedroom after brushing your teeth, you find Chara sitting on their bed, wrapped up in a quilt stolen from _your_ bed.

"Chara, I need that," you say.

"No you don't," they reply, but they don't fight as you unwind them from the cotton folds.

You're used to this kind of thing by now, the sight of their angry, pouting face filling you more with fondness than exasperation. And because they're your friend (they _are_ your friend, aren't they?), and because you're feeling sleepy and affectionate (not _needy,_ not wanting to prove a point to anybody, nothing like that), you lean forward and gently bump your forehead against theirs.

When you pull away, they're smiling.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," they say, and then they're standing up, and then suddenly, they're gone.

Let alone in your bedroom, you feel a flicker of something like guilt. 

Possibly because you hadn't asked permission before giving them that half-hearted nuzzle.

But did you _really_ need to ask before doing something so small? You'd been asking before touching them for _weeks,_ and never once had they said no or seemed afraid, even if they'd never once returned your gestures. Your mother had been wrong, obviously. Heck, Chara had _smiled,_ why would they -

That is when it hits you. 

Chara had _smiled._

When Chara had first fallen, they'd been stiff with politeness. Outside of those first few days when they were furious over being confined to their bed, their smile never faltered, not even for a second. They'd even referred to your mom and dad as _ma'am_ and _sir._ Yet gradually, that rigid brightness had begun to fade. They'd begun to frown more, even snapping at you from their bedside when they thought you'd said something particularly dumb. 

They had smiled most back when they were injured and in pain. They had smiled most when they had only just fallen and didn't know you or your parents yet. They had smiled most when any other person would have been scared out of their wits. It was only when they had begun to heal that their smile had begun to fade and they had finally begun to talk to you in a way that didn't feel like they were imitating someone else.

Chara always smiled when you hugged them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask the moment they return, and Chara freezes in the doorway. 

"Tell you what?" they ask.

"You smile when you're unhappy, right?" you say. It comes out more accusingly than you'd intended, and you see them stiffen in response. "You smile when we hug. You don't like it. Why didn't you ever tell me no?"

"Because you didn't want me to," they answer.

They're beaming, bright, bright bright. Normally you love their smile, but right now it's like a knife, digging deep into your chest, and you say, "That's not a _reason!"_

"Yes it is," they reply. They've gone rigid, as though bracing themselves for something, arms hanging stiffly at their sides despite their cheerful expression. "You're my saviour, aren't you? Wouldn't it be of ungrateful of me not to go along with it? _That's_ my reason. It's a perfectly valid one."

Hearing it said out loud by someone other than yourself makes your skin crawl.

Your hands ball themselves into fists, and you cry, "No it's _not!"_   and somehow this is coming out as anger, even though it's really guilt and shame, spiraling and twisting all together into something sick. "You said it was okay, but it _wasn't_ , and now—"

"Do you want to know why I smile?" Chara interrupts. Their grin is horrible now, cold and empty. A lie, a lie you made them tell. "Because it makes people _leave me alone._ So _drop it."  
_

Leave them alone. They want you to _leave them alone._

You like how odd and unpredictable they can be, but you don't like _this._ You don't like finding out that everything about them apparently works in opposites. You don't like thinking that you've been doing something wrong the entire time, when all you ever wanted was to...was for them to...

"Why do you have to be so _weird?!"_ you shout.

And their smile finally falls.

Chara's eyes narrow, expression growing pinched, and in the coldest voice you've ever heard, they say, "I hate you."

You want to scream. You want to hit something. You want to say _no you don't, you're not allowed._

Instead you say, "I hate you too."

They slam the door behind them as they leave, and for a moment, you can only stand there, staring at the place they used to be, heart pounding, breathing ragged. 

 _Should I go after them?_ you wonder. 

Probably not. They wanted you to leave them alone, after all. 

You throw yourself onto your mattress, pulling your blanket up over your head and blocking out the empty room around you.

For once, you don't cry. Your mind won't quiet itself long enough to let you cry. 

In your newfound solitude, all you can think is _I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it._

 

* * *

 

In the middle of the night, when all is silent and Chara still has not returned, you find yourself thinking that you've done something bad.

Really, really bad. 

The more Chara had withdrawn, the more you'd tried to push and take. Love was supposed to be something beautiful, and you had made it ugly. Everything about this side of you was _ugly._ And that ugliness had hurt Chara, even if you hadn't meant it to.

Your ugliness had forced them to smile for you, even though you realize now that their smile was a sign of their unhappiness. Maybe even of their fear. 

You had known better. You just hadn't cared.

When you hurt somebody, you need to apologize. 

 

* * *

 

When you wake up that morning, Chara's sitting in the corner of the room, holding a pair of knitting needles that you've never seen before. Their brow is furrowed in concentration. From your bed, you can't tell what they're making, only that it's green and lumpy. 

"Come here," they say without looking up. 

You practically fall out of bed in your haste to do so. When you reach them, you kneel across from them, careful to leave plenty of space between the two of you. 

"I'm sorry about what I said," you tell them. Thankfully, your voice is only trembling a little bit. "I didn't mean it. And I'm sorry that I kept hugging you even though you didn't like it."

"It's okay."

"But not really?" you venture. 

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Mm."

They don't say _it's fine._ They don't say _apology accepted._ You guess that's fair.

They _do_ say "I got upset last night."

You cringe. You know what _getting upset_ means for Chara. It means crying, screaming, furniture being thrown, hours lost to helping them calm down. You should have been there. You've spent all this time being so smug about them, obsessing over everything they owed you as your friend, and  _you_ had been the one to hurt them without even helping them recover afterwards. 

"Are you okay now?" you ask.

"Yes," they say, adding, "Your mom is teaching me how to knit."

You guess that explains the needles.

"I didn't tell her that we had a fight," Chara continues, not looking up from the wool. "So you're not in trouble or anything. She just thinks I went crazy again."

"Oh," you say, for lack of a better response.

Finally, they lift their head.

Their eyes are very, very tired.

"I don't think I like being touched," Chara says. 

You nod.

"It's not just you. It's everybody."

Somehow, that possibility had not occurred to you. 

"Oh," you say again.

"I should've told you."

Another twist of guilt. You'd already known. You'd just ignored it. But even now, you can't admit it.

You're not that selfish. You're not that greedy. You're _not._

"And I don't hate you." 

You want to sidle closer. You want to rest your head upon their shoulder. They say that they don't hate you and you think that you might love them. 

But you don't move. You stay right where you are, watching as they work.

They don't say anything else. They don't tell you to stay, but they don't tell you to go, either, so you think it's probably okay if you keep watching. 

Still, you keep your distance, just in case.

 

* * *

   

Much, much later, Chara brings you a lumpy woolen sweater, almost the exact same shade of green as their own. 

"You're soft," Chara says when they shove it into your hands. "Not rough and clammy. So I might get used to hugging you someday. It just might take a while."

"It's okay if you don't," you say.

The sweater itches, but it's warm.

It's better than a hug. 


End file.
